" Do you want me, Shea?” This time his voice was hesitant, as if for all his strength, for all his power, one word from her would bring him crashing down. He was kneeling at her feet, his beloved face— so ravaged by torment, so beautifully male, so sensually Carpathian— staring up at her. He was lost without her; it was there for her to see. Raw. Stark. His total vulnerability. For just one moment the wind seemed to cease, and the storm held itself still as if the very skies were awaiting her answer. “You can’t possibly know how much I want you, Jacques, even if you’re reading my mind. "